Unwell
by Alpha Hydra
Summary: Draco Malfoy is not crazy. He's just...Unwell. Impaired. Unsure. SLASH sort of Harry/Draco. Rated for swearing oneshot; sort of au, set sometime during HBP.


**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and all related memorabilia do not belong to me. They are the property of JKR, Warner Bros and lots and lots of other people who aren't me. Also, Matchbox Twenty don't belong to me either. Not making any money off of this or any such nonsense.

**Summary:** One-shot based loosely on the song 'Unwell' by Matchbox Twenty. It's not really a song fic, but if you know the song, you can tell what parts of it I was listening to while writing. Rated mostly for swearing.

**A/N: **This is what happens when you listen to a song on repeat for the entirety of a one-shot. I wasn't going to post this, but then the song came up on my itunes, and I thought, why not?

Draco was fucking up his life at every turn, and he just couldn't seem to stop.

He was lying in his bed the last Sunday before the Christmas holidays, staring at the ceiling. He was so tired of having to do all of this, but he didn't know how to fix any of it. It was easier for him to just watch the shadows in the dimly lit dungeons. If he stopped to think, he might end up breaking down. However, that was a lot easier said than done.

He knew that Potter suspected that he was up to something, and that half their year thought he was a good for nothing Death Eater; Draco had heard the rumors, had heard them whispering to themselves when they thought Draco wasn't paying attention, but he was. Sure the others were more afraid of him than anything, but it still made Draco think that maybe he had really been daft to take up this whole task.

Because really, how could the most powerful Dark Wizard in the world assign this sort of challenge to a 16 year old boy?

Unless he really didn't think that Draco would succeed. It was a thought that had crossed Draco's mind on more than one occasion. If the Dark Lord didn't think that Draco could complete his task (which Draco had begun to suspect that he didn't), then the only reason he would have asked him to attempt such a thing was to punish his parents.

Draco was so sick of this. He was going to die because of his parents, or his parents were going to die because of him. He didn't know what to do. And he'd have to go home for the Christmas holidays to a manor crawling with Death Eaters, all of them asking how he was doing with his got damned assignment. He'd have to act like his old self and tell them that the whole thing was so impossibly easy that he could have done it in his sleep.

He was so tired of lying.

Suddenly, he pulled himself out of bed. The dark dungeons seemed suffocating all of the sudden; he needed to get out. Without a second thought, he grabbed his heavy winter coat and crept out of the dorms.

It was a little after three in the morning, so most of the school was already asleep, grudgingly awaiting the last week of the semester. He opened the doors to the great hall as quietly as he could and stole into the semi-darkness.

It was snowing, and the foot of snow covering the grounds reflected the light of the waning moon so that the whole school looked like it was twinkling. Draco trudged through the snow, grateful for the fur lining of his coat, until he reached the edge of the frozen lake. He sat under one of the snow-covered trees, not caring if he froze at that moment. The cold was reassuring; it reminded him that he could feel things other than despair, dread and hopelessness.

He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and dropped his head to rest against his knees. Draco's coat was white with a white mink lining, so he knew that if anyone was looking out their window, he would be nearly invisible to them in the snow. It was of the kind with no sleeves, and sometimes it reminded Draco of his blankets at the manor. For a second, he felt secure again. He wrapped the cloak around himself tighter, wishing the feeling would stay.

Draco sat like that for a long while, until he felt small streaks of tears fall from his face. He wondered for a moment if they could turn to icicles on his jaw when heard an all too familiar voice at his side.

"You forgot to clear your snow track when you left the school. If someone had been looking for you, you would have led them straight to you."

Perfect. Bloody Potter had found him, and he had icicles of tears hanging down his face. Draco was so tired of fighting; he couldn't even muster up the energy to wipe away his tears, much less reach for his wand and hex Potter like he should have.

"Fuck off Potter," he said in a quiet voice, praising Merlin that his voice didn't crack.

But instead of listening to him like a good savior would, the bloody prat merely sat down beside him, pulling off what must have been an invisibility cloak as he did so.

So that was how he had managed to sneak around the school all of these years. He should have known.

"What do you want?" he asked after a long pause, and this time his voice did waver slightly.

Potter didn't answer for a minute; he only sat there watching Draco with a strange expression on his face, shivering ever so slightly. Draco suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. He unwrapped himself from his cloak and threw half of it over Potter. The cloak had a spell on it that would enlarge it or shrink it should the need arise. Potter gave him another strange look, but said nothing about it.

"I know you've been up to something," he finally said. "But no one wants to believe me."

"That's pretty stupid of them," Draco mumbled. To his surprise, Potter laughed.

"That's rich, coming from you."

Draco shrugged.

"I am up to something," he said. "Your friends are thick if they can't see that."

Potter smiled in a sad sort of way, but said nothing. After a minute, he cleared his throat.

"Look Malfoy," he said. "I've been watching you, and it really seems like whatever you're doing is taking its toll on you. I—well—is there something wrong?"

It was such a ridiculous question that Draco wanted to laugh. Instead, he did the one thing he never thought he would do; he told the truth.

"Yes Potter, there is something dreadfully wrong," he said. Potter was watching him intently, and Draco had never really noticed how _green _Potter's eyes were. He felt like he was getting reeled into Potter's stare, and there was no way out. "I have completely and totally fucked my life up, and there's nothing I can do about it now."

"That's not true," Potter answered, and he sounded so fucking sure of himself, as if he actually wanted Draco to see sense… "If you're having second thoughts Malfoy—I know you're a Death Eater, even if no one believes me, but if you want out all you have to do is say so. We can help you."

Draco did laugh at that, a cold, mirthless laugh with no joy left in it. Almost instinctively, his right hand went up to his left forearm where his concealed mark lay hidden.

"Don't be so naïve Potter," he said bitterly. "You can't help me. No one can help me. I've either got to—to do the impossible, or die trying."

"That's not true," Potter insisted. "You've always got a third choice Malfoy. You know you do."

Against almost every fiber of his being, Draco felt a tiny light of hope ignite inside his chest. He tried to squash it, but it forced itself out in the form of a question.

"Is that an offer Potter?"

He hated how fucking vulnerable it sounded, but there was nothing he could do about it. And instead of shying away from the question like he should have, Potter smiled at him. He _smiled_! And somehow, that smile made everything seem a little less horrible, even if for just that second.

"Yes," he said simply.

"I don't know Potter," he said, and even to his own ears his protest sounded weak. Potter's smile only grew.

"Please Malfoy, I've lost too many people to this fucking cause. You're too young to sign your soul away."

But it was too late; Draco had already signed his soul away. He felt like he was falling suddenly. Draco closed his eyes, unsure why he suddenly felt like breaking down. Warmth engulfed his hand, and Draco looked up to see Potter's hand over his own.

"Just think about it," Potter whispered.

He got up and dusted the snow off his trousers. With one last meaningful glance at Draco on the floor, he disappeared under his invisibility cloak. Draco sat under the tree for nearly an hour after Potter had left, hearing his words repeat themselves over and over again in his mind.

_We can help you. You've always got a third choice._

"Draco, are you still up son?" Narcissa's soft voice echoed through his dark room, sounding like a pale morning light.

"Yes Mother," Draco whispered through the darkness.

He was lying on his bed, watching the moonlight play across his ceiling through his open curtains, wishing that he was anywhere else but in that house. There was always at least a dozen Death Eaters crawling around the Manor now, and if he was lucky, the Dark Lord wasn't spending a few days there as well. Draco shuddered. He hadn't seen the maniac since he had gotten his task, and was hoping to avoid the freak at all costs.

Draco wondered if he could get killed for insolence at referring to the Dark Lord as a freak, even if it was just in his mind.

"You should get some sleep son," his mother said, breaking through his thoughts like they were crystalline fragments. "You've got to get up early tomorrow to make it onto the train."

"I know," he sighed.

Draco ran a hand through his hair. It was a newly acquired habit that, if he had been in his right mind, would have infuriated him. Frankly, he was surprised his hair hadn't started falling out after all the times he had run his hands through it.

"Draco, are you alright son? You haven't seemed like your normal self."

He closed his eyes against the sudden urge to confess himself to his mother. As much as he loved her, as much as he tried to protect her and save her, he didn't trust her much when it came to matters of this nature. He sighed again.

"I'm just a little worried," he finally said. He closed his eyes, unsure of what his mother might tell him at his show of weakness.

"I understand," was all she said. "Get some sleep son. Tomorrow might seem better."

Draco nodded. He heard his mother leave his room and softly close the door behind her. He wouldn't get to sleep for a while. After that damn talk with Potter, it was getting harder and harder to keep his mind focused. His thoughts would inadvertently veer off to Potter's offer of…whatever it was he was offering.

If he wasn't careful, Draco would end up going crazy with all the conflicting thoughts running through his head.

Perhaps he already was.

Draco didn't know what it was that possessed him to switch sides. He was a fucking lunatic to even consider such an impossibility, but there he was, sitting alone at the Slytherin table, avoiding his friends. He had told himself that he just needed a second to clear his head; that spending so much time with the Death Eaters had made him temporarily daft…but the longer he was alone, the more certain he became.

He didn't belong in this world. And there was only one way out of it now. He had to go find Potter.

He hadn't had a good night's sleep in so long, and he had started talking in his sleep. He wasn't eating well, and his grades had started to slip.

"I need to find him, to talk to him," Draco whispered to himself, and stood up from his seat. The others cast him a weary glance.

"Draco, are you alright?" Pansy asked, looking concerned.

"Yes, I'm fine Pans," he said, casting a glance around the Great Hall, half expecting the Death Eaters to come and take him away. "I just need to go. I'll meet you in Charms."

"Ok Draco." She turned back to Zabini grudgingly, who had just asked her about their Transfiguration homework.

Draco took the opportunity to slip away, still mumbling to himself slightly. He was going crazy, Draco knew, but there was nothing he could do about it now. If it was fear that was doing this to him, there would be no relief until after this war had ended.

"Oi Malfoy!" he heard a familiar voice call. "Going off to meet with your Death Eater Scum friends?"

Draco stopped dead. Well, that was one way to find Potter. He turned around, and sure enough, Potter was standing behind his Weasel friend, resolutely watching his shoes. Draco didn't know what to do. Every instinct told him to lash out at Weasel for being so fucking stupid, but he was sure that wouldn't put him on Potter's good side, and Draco _needed _Potter to listen to him. If he didn't, Draco was doomed. Draco scowled, but said nothing. He dropped his head, unsure why his silence was causing a lump to form in the back of his throat.

"What is it now Ferret?" the Weasel persisted. "You starting to grow a yellow belly to match all that white fur?"

Draco flushed at the memory of Moody transfiguring him into a ferret, but still, refused to rise to the bait.

"Potter," he said instead. "I need to talk with you."

The Weasel laughed, and Draco lifted his head. If Potter was laughing at him—But no, he was only watching Draco with an unreadable expression on his face.

"You're crazy, Malfoy!"

"I'm not crazy," Draco whispered to himself.

"Ron, I'll meet you at Defense against the Dark Arts," Potter said, his eyes not leaving Draco's.

After a whispered argument, Weasley left them, and Potter sent him a curious look before turning and heading out into the grounds. Draco followed.

"I'm not crazy," he repeated after what felt like ages of silence, loud enough for Potter to hear. If he was listening, that is. "I'm just… impaired. I feel like I can't see straight; like I haven't been able to see for a long while. And I—I don't know what to do about it Potter. But…I guess you don't really care right now but, I'm scared _all the bloody time_ and I don't know what I can do about it anymore. I can hear what everyone says about me; I'm not deaf and I feel like I really am losing my mind. I've been thinking about what you said last term, and it makes me feel as if the Death Eaters will swoop down on me for even thinking about…what I've been thinking about and I can't stand it anymore and—"

Draco was cut off when Potter placed a hand on his shoulder, watching him with an intense sort of expression on his face.

"What are you trying to say Malfoy?"

"I—I don't want to be a Death Eater anymore. I don't want to be afraid anymore."

Potter smiled again, and Draco was struck by how fucking beautiful Potter looked when he was really happy. Potter reached out and hugged him, and not in an _I'm glad you've decided you're not going to die_ kind of way, but in an _I've been wanting to do this for so long_ sort of way and Draco couldn't help but be overwhelmed by the feeling.

"Just, keep me safe Potter," Draco whispered into Potter's neck.

"I will," he said. "I promise."


End file.
